


I've Only Got Eyes For You

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Food, M/M, Potatoes, bizarre courtship rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think my Holmes Brothers to Basic Human translation program is on the fritz. Any chance of you explaining things in plain words? Preferably in English?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Only Got Eyes For You

**Author's Note:**

> I have this running head canon that Sherlock has very classic ideas of courtship. Then, this sort of happened.... Sorry I'm not sorry.

“What do you think?”

John glanced at the object his flatmate had just presented him with. Then up to said flatmate. Back down to the object.

“I think it’s a potato.”

Sherlock, who had been standing, all but wagging a non-existent tail, immediately frowned. It was like watching a child learn that Father Christmas was fake, and Papa had thrown up in their stocking. “That’s it?”

“Well, it’s quite a  _large_  potato, Sherlock.” John tried to fix the situation. It was true. It looked like his friend might have purchased a mutant root vegetable. The russet potato was nearly a foot long, and still covered in dirt. “You bought a very fine…. Sorry, why am I holding this thing? Did you do the shopping today? I hope you remembered to pick up toothpaste. Sherlock? Where…?”

He was cut off by the sound of stumbling steps on the stairs, followed by the door slamming.

Five minutes later, his mobile rang.

“Doctor Watson, what did you do this time?”

Groaning, John squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t do anything. I asked Sherlock if he bought toothpaste. He made this weird croaking sound, and took off.”

“Is that all? Did anything happen before this?”

“He… Sherlock gave me a potato. A huge one. Seriously, it looks like it could feed a family of four.”

“Bugger. I was hoping he would grow out of this. And, you! I thought you had feelings for my brother. How could you be this heartless?”

“Mycroft, I’m sure somewhere in your head, those sentences made some sort of sense. But I think my Holmes Brothers to Basic Human translation program is on the fritz. Any chance of you explaining things in plain words? Preferably in English?”

“Meet me in the cafe downstairs. I have things to discuss with you.”

Twenty minutes later, John was sitting in Speedy’s across from the elder Holmes. He was cradling the tuber like an infant, and only felt slightly ridiculous about that fact. Sipping on his coffee, he waited for Mycroft to explain. Because he was incredibly lost.

“My brother…” Mycroft scowled in distaste. “Does not function the way the rest of normal society does. Once he fixates on an idea, or a theory, he tends to hold onto that. While he was in university, he took an introduction to anthropology course. Do you see where I am going with this, John?”

“Ye- No. Not at all, I’m sorry.” Rubbing a bit of dirt off the potato with his thumb, John frowned. “What does that have to do with him presenting me with food…. Oh. Shit.”

“Precisely.” Mycroft nodded. “Sherlock has been courting you. From the beginning of your relationship, I would wager. He got it into his head that to be seen as a desirable mate, he needs to prove himself to be a good provider to you.” Wrinkling his nose, Mycroft pushed a biscuit around on his plate.

“That’s… I mean, it’s ridiculous. Sherlock doesn’t have feelings for me. That’s just… ridiculous!”

“Is it though? Look at it as an outside observer, John. My brother has given you a home, a lucrative career, and still insists on giving you things. Dinners, tickets to the theatre, a new laptop, clothing. He takes cases that would otherwise bore him, because it means he will earn more money. He allows you to share the cases he works on your website, because it means more clients.”

Sighing, John set the vegetable on the table. “So… when I didn’t leap into his arms, he thought I was turning him down. God, this is like a really bad romantic comedy.” The doctor scrubbed his stained hands over his hair. “Did I screw things up too badly? I mean… Did I lose him over this? I can’t lose him, Mycroft. He’s mine, and- holy fuck. Oh, god dammit. Did  _all_ of you know I was in love with him? Were you sitting around snickering behind your hands while I made a complete tit of myself?” He thumped his head down onto the table, and giggled.

“Not all of us, no. Just most.”

*

“Do you need a hand with something, love?”

John looked up from Mrs Hudson’s stove, where he was stirring some bacon around in a pan. “No, thanks Mrs H, but it would kind of defeat the purpose if you helped.” He mixed the bacon in with his bowl of mashed potatoes, scraped it into a casserole dish, and topped the lot with cheese before putting it under the broiler.

While it was heating, he drank a cup of tea to calm his nerves. “I will borrow some oven mitts, though.” He leaned over and kissed his landlady on the cheek. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck, dear. What are you doing?”

John drew the dish back out of the oven, pushing the door shut with his hip. “It’s hard to… I mean, it’s weird… I’m… I’m going to sort of ask Sherlock to marry me.”

“You’re going to propose? With…. Potato gratin? Oh, dear, he’ll love it.”

Grinning like a giant dork, John juggled the dish from hand to hand as he made his way upstairs. “Sherlock, I’ve got something for you.” He called, making his way into the kitchen. Shaking out of the oven mitts, he dug in the drawer for a couple forks.

“I smell bacon.” Sherlock moaned softly as he came out of his room. “Bacon is your apology food. And cheese. I don’t know what cheese signifies. So you’re sorry, which means-”

John stepped forward and pressed a fork into the other man’s hand. “Shut up, eat the damn potato, and tell me you love me as much as I love you.”

Sherlock’s mouth was immediately too full to obey any but John’s first order.


End file.
